I've been prone to headaches as long as I can remember. There's the post-period one, which began when I was a teenager and which still smites me once a month: there's the tension headache from reading for more than 30 minutes, which began during graduate school when the car I was in was hit sideways in a parking lot, and now there's the late-forties-had-laser-eye-surgery one which crops up just enough to keep things interesting. I'm not big into drugs, and will consider Botox for the back of my neck if that's going to work, but I can count on one thing to help with most cases, and that's the placement of a large vibrating object on the back of my neck. A few minutes of buzzing, and I feel a lot better. This is particularly useful for those tensions headaches which arise from the back of my neck.
The problem is, the wonderful palm-shaped plug-in vibrator device that my grandmother used to use on her neck isn't widely available here, so I have to make do with what's around. Sadly, most massage devices here are either phallic, for intended use on a cervix of a very different kind, or they're shaped like huge dolphins and can't really attack the muscles in my tiny neck. Those Shiatsu massage pillows just pull my hair.
I was in in Watson's one day when I came across a display of condoms which featured a really big dildo. There was not only a dildo in a box, but there was a dildo out on a table for display purposes. It was a vibrating dildo, oddly shaped, and what got ME excited was the shape--there was an odd flat portion near the tip and I wondered if it would fit the back of my head. Since I had a headache at the time, and it was pretty fierce, I said the hell with my dignity and slapped it on the back of my head. Bliss. I was closing my eyes and leaning into the buzz when I heard the worst sound on the planet that a teacher can hear, namely, a student's voice saying, "Hi, Teacher Zanne." I opened my eyes to find several of my students gaping at me: yes, I was standing in public groaning with relief with a dildo plastered to the back of my head. I said a weak hello, snapped it off, and marched out of the store.
And yet--I still had a headache. I worked up my courage a few days later to go back and purchase said item but to my dismay it was gone. I cruised the aisle in search of something that would help and decided to try The Next Best Thing, in this case, a vibrating Cock Ring. A short and interesting dialogue with the clerk was involved: she spoke some English and was trying to warn me, or advise me, as to what was in the box. This is not a dialogue you will ever find in "The Practical Chinese Reader." I bought the thing--blushing--and took it out in the cab, applied it to the back of my head and ahhhhhhh--sweet sweet relief. I started carrying the thing in my purse, where I could reach for it on a moment's notice and massage my pain away. Since it was fairly small, I could slip it in the same small silk bag where I keep Motrin, tampons, and toilet paper (but not condoms.) I called it my Port-a-Bliss and was happy to have it at hand until the battery wore out and I was in search of a new one.
I work a lot, and seldom get the chance to go to a pharmacy or drug store, so about a month passed by before I had some free time. Once again I had a splitting headache, and once again I went to purchase a Cock Ring, only the store I went to didn't have one: instead, they had small pink vibrators made of some weird jelly-like material. It was not "The Tongue" as advertised on "That's So Graham Norton" but I thought what the hell, I don't care what it looks like as long as it has the right moves. So I bought it--blushing--and scooted out of that store before I bumped into any students. I used it in the cab (yes, on the back of my head) and was happily head-ache free by the time I got home. In fact, it packed quite a punch, and worked even more quickly than the Cock Ring. It did have one disadvantage, though: I couldn't fit it into the silk bag in my purse, so I settled for just tossing it in my bag if I was going on a long cab ride under duress. Since I have all sorts of crap in there (a survivalist's wet dream) I didn't think much about it. And then today happened...
Part of the joy of being an expat is the police surveillance. The police often come and check to see who is living in a residence. If they come to the door, you should be polite and show them your residence certificate and answer all questions--in my case, how many people lived there. (Oddly, they don't give a damn about the second and semi-illegal dog.) They asked to see my residence certificate which I had placed in my bag in a fit of stupidity (I usually leave it taped to the front door.) As I shuffled through the contents of the bag, dogs barking with mad joy at the prospect of two visitors to lick, the pink vibrator popped out of my purse and began buzzing across the floor. The terrier yelped in terror and backed off but the Pekingese, horny to the last, began to bat at it, and rolled it up to the cop's leg. He then preceded to plunk his junk on top of it, a look of bliss spreading across his wide Peke smile. The cop suddenly believed me that my paperwork was in order and beat a hasty retreat while lucky little me got to reach under the dog, pull out the toy, turn it off, and flip it one-handed into the garbage can.
I doubt that the police will be stopping by any time soon, but what will I do if I get another headache? Back to the Cock Ring. Sigh.
The problem is, the wonderful palm-shaped plug-in vibrator device that my grandmother used to use on her neck isn't widely available here, so I have to make do with what's around. Sadly, most massage devices here are either phallic, for intended use on a cervix of a very different kind, or they're shaped like huge dolphins and can't really attack the muscles in my tiny neck. Those Shiatsu massage pillows just pull my hair.
I was in in Watson's one day when I came across a display of condoms which featured a really big dildo. There was not only a dildo in a box, but there was a dildo out on a table for display purposes. It was a vibrating dildo, oddly shaped, and what got ME excited was the shape--there was an odd flat portion near the tip and I wondered if it would fit the back of my head. Since I had a headache at the time, and it was pretty fierce, I said the hell with my dignity and slapped it on the back of my head. Bliss. I was closing my eyes and leaning into the buzz when I heard the worst sound on the planet that a teacher can hear, namely, a student's voice saying, "Hi, Teacher Zanne." I opened my eyes to find several of my students gaping at me: yes, I was standing in public groaning with relief with a dildo plastered to the back of my head. I said a weak hello, snapped it off, and marched out of the store.
And yet--I still had a headache. I worked up my courage a few days later to go back and purchase said item but to my dismay it was gone. I cruised the aisle in search of something that would help and decided to try The Next Best Thing, in this case, a vibrating Cock Ring. A short and interesting dialogue with the clerk was involved: she spoke some English and was trying to warn me, or advise me, as to what was in the box. This is not a dialogue you will ever find in "The Practical Chinese Reader." I bought the thing--blushing--and took it out in the cab, applied it to the back of my head and ahhhhhhh--sweet sweet relief. I started carrying the thing in my purse, where I could reach for it on a moment's notice and massage my pain away. Since it was fairly small, I could slip it in the same small silk bag where I keep Motrin, tampons, and toilet paper (but not condoms.) I called it my Port-a-Bliss and was happy to have it at hand until the battery wore out and I was in search of a new one.
I work a lot, and seldom get the chance to go to a pharmacy or drug store, so about a month passed by before I had some free time. Once again I had a splitting headache, and once again I went to purchase a Cock Ring, only the store I went to didn't have one: instead, they had small pink vibrators made of some weird jelly-like material. It was not "The Tongue" as advertised on "That's So Graham Norton" but I thought what the hell, I don't care what it looks like as long as it has the right moves. So I bought it--blushing--and scooted out of that store before I bumped into any students. I used it in the cab (yes, on the back of my head) and was happily head-ache free by the time I got home. In fact, it packed quite a punch, and worked even more quickly than the Cock Ring. It did have one disadvantage, though: I couldn't fit it into the silk bag in my purse, so I settled for just tossing it in my bag if I was going on a long cab ride under duress. Since I have all sorts of crap in there (a survivalist's wet dream) I didn't think much about it. And then today happened...
Part of the joy of being an expat is the police surveillance. The police often come and check to see who is living in a residence. If they come to the door, you should be polite and show them your residence certificate and answer all questions--in my case, how many people lived there. (Oddly, they don't give a damn about the second and semi-illegal dog.) They asked to see my residence certificate which I had placed in my bag in a fit of stupidity (I usually leave it taped to the front door.) As I shuffled through the contents of the bag, dogs barking with mad joy at the prospect of two visitors to lick, the pink vibrator popped out of my purse and began buzzing across the floor. The terrier yelped in terror and backed off but the Pekingese, horny to the last, began to bat at it, and rolled it up to the cop's leg. He then preceded to plunk his junk on top of it, a look of bliss spreading across his wide Peke smile. The cop suddenly believed me that my paperwork was in order and beat a hasty retreat while lucky little me got to reach under the dog, pull out the toy, turn it off, and flip it one-handed into the garbage can.
I doubt that the police will be stopping by any time soon, but what will I do if I get another headache? Back to the Cock Ring. Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment